


Diversion

by Pollydoodles



Series: The Boys in Blue [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7032406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollydoodles/pseuds/Pollydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers have to perform some clean up in London; it doesn't go entirely as expected.<br/>Steve's got a few things on his mind, not least of which is one Darcy Lewis. But before he can possibly address that, he has to contend with Thor's left over Frost Beast, the implications of calling in a bomb threat and the Metropolitan Police force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diversion

D  
“Thor?” The larger blond looked up from his breakfast and graced Steve with a wide smile that edged from one side of his face to the other. “Uh, buddy – quick question. You ever seen this thing before?” The captain slid the tablet across the breakfast bar towards the Norseman and Thor licked his fingers enthusiastically before grabbing the device. He brought it to his face, almost dwarfing the screen with his huge hands, and looked carefully at the somewhat grainy set of photos displayed on it.

“Why of course, t’is a Frost Beast.” He declared happily, lowering the screen slightly and looking pleased with himself. Stark elbowed Steve in the ribs, a sharp jab that was followed shortly by raised eyebrows and a loaded head tilt. Steve for his part raised his hands to the smaller man and gestured for him to be quiet.

“Right. Frost Beast.” Steve glanced at Natasha who was rolling her eyes already. “And the… Frost Beast… Is in London because… ?”

“London?” Thor looked up, blinking.

“Clean up, aisle three.” Tony murmured under his breath.

\-------

“We’re gonna need a diversion, here.” Steve said into his comms, hoping someone would pick it up. He told himself that he in no way wished that person would be small, curvy and brunette, but then again Steve had gotten pretty good at lying to himself over the years. In fact, he was almost a master at it.

“Hey Cap, no worries. I’m all over it.” He tamped down the kick-drum heart beat that started in the very middle of his chest at the sound of her voice, and instead forced himself to wait patiently to the sound of furious tapping against a keyboard.

“You said Liverpool Street station, right?” Steve could practically hear her thinking as fast as the keys were going, and he hid his smile from Natasha who was looking up at him curiously and with not a small amount of interest in those deep green eyes.

“What exactly did you have planned, Darce?” He turned his back on the redhead as he spoke, but didn't miss her snort as he moved away from her. 

“You wanted a diversion, I got you a diversion.” He could hear the smile in Darcy’s voice as she answered him, the one she got when she knew she’d been particularly clever or devious. Steve half-wished he was there with her in the Quinjet to see it in person. It was that playful side of her that had first caught his attention, before even he’d really noticed the curves and the eyes and the hair and- 

Steve stopped himself before his mind could wander much further. 

“In the form of?”

“Bomb scare.”

Steve choked.

“No, don't make that noise.” She reprimanded from the other end of the line, still tapping away at her keyboard. “Promise you, this is golden. Reports of an unexploded World War 2 bomb, they close the station, everybody out. Leaves you time to work on the Frost Beast situation.”

“Angel.” He breathed, then caught his bottom lip between his teeth and shut his eyes, grimacing. A beat passed, and Darcy said nothing. Steve sighed to himself. Someday he might tell her that his day brightened when he saw her. That hearing her laugh down the comms at him made a mission easier. That, for him, seeing her smile was like the sun finally breaking through an overcast afternoon. 

That day was not today. 

The team made their way across the platform cautiously, looking for any signs of the errant Asgardian beast. Rounding the corner from platform one and carefully jumping the barriers, they came face to face with a surprised looking young man in a police uniform. He stared up at them and blinked slowly. In his hands was a roll of blue and white printed Police Aware tape.

“Now, son-” Steve started, with a sharp glance back at the rest of the team to tell them, in not so many words, to let him handle it. If his gaze lingered at all on Bucky, whose hands were clearly itching to be full of rifle, he told himself it was purely tactical. 

“Er, Sarge?” The police officer ignored him and spoke into his radio, strapped firmly to his chest, eyes still on the assembled group in front of him. “We appear to have some company.”

The radio crackled and spat in response, the tinny voice emanating from it too high for Steve to be able to pick up what it was saying. 

“Well.” He ran his eyes over the people in front of him, and Steve cleared his throat and slid the shield in what he hoped was a surreptitious way onto his back. Barton, stood next to him, had arranged his face into an odd expression. Glancing over at the smaller man, Steve could only assume it was an impression of what the archer thought an innocent look would be. He cleared his throat again and straightened up, squaring his shoulders and looking down at the policeman who was talking again into his radio. 

“I think they might be lost on the way to a fancy dress party.”

“What's a fancy dress party?” Asked Thor in what he presumably thought was a whisper. The policeman flicked his eyes up to the larger man and narrowed them suspiciously. He reached slowly into yet another pocket and pulled out a small notepad and, from another pocket, a biro which he clicked officiously. 

“Uh, look, you really can't be here,” Steve tried in an appeasing tone, approaching the officer.

“Stand back, sir.” The other man intoned in a bored voice, not bothering looking up from his notebook. Steve thought he could read, upside down, something about ‘miscreants’ and a ‘costume fetish’. He just about stopped himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Is he really a policeman? Thor asked, not bothering this time to attempt to lower his voice, and even Bucky gave him an incredulous look. The uniformed man in front of them raised an eyebrow, lowering his notepad slightly. Thor continued, despite Barton’s elbow connecting sharply with his ribs. “I just ... Where's his gun? I thought police always had guns.”

The police officer made what Steve considered a superhuman effort to show he was ignoring Thor, sucked the end of his biro and then pointed it at Barton. “Has that man got a bow and arrow on his person?” Clint edged slightly to the left and backed into Thor in an attempt to hide the quiver from view.

“Lads, can I get some back up in here?” The officer said into his radio, eyes still on Barton who chanced a smile back at him. 

“Right, I’m going to need you to evacuate the station area.” The policeman instructed, shoving his notepad in his pocket. “We've got an unexploded bomb somewhere in the vicinity and it's not safe for you to be on site.” There were the eyes again, casting their way across the group in front of him. Natasha, arms folded and a severely unimpressed look upon on her face. Banner edging his way towards the back of the group, sweater long and low over his fidgeting hands. Barton, itching to get his hands on his arrows. Wanda, inspecting the dark polish on her nails and looking bored. Thor, confused as ever, and Bucky, throwing Steve a side-long glance that spoke volumes about how he ought to be doing something instead of just standing there. 

“Uh, the thing is - there's not actually a bomb.” Steve said, turning back to the uniformed man in front of him and deciding that honesty - after a fashion - could only be the best policy in this situation. 

“Sir,” The young man said flatly. “There's always a bomb.”

“Oh, what’s this? Cricket fans?” Steve’s response was interrupted by the jovial arrival of a second policeman, this one older, grey-haired and approaching with a friendly smile on his face, hands clasped behind his back. Reaching the younger man he smiled benevolently at Steve, one hand pushing back his peaked cap slightly to get a better look at him. Steve got the impression that, had the man worn glasses, he’d be adjusting them on the end of his nose at that moment. 

“Don’t ask what cricket is.” Bucky hissed at Thor, and Steve fought back the strong desire to put his head in his hands and genuinely weep. Somewhere in the station was a beast from outer space and they were fast running out of time to deal with it. If there were any small silver lining to this situation at all, it was that Stark was still - insofar as he was aware - on the Quinjet, awaiting further instruction. 

“Look-” Steve tried again. “The thing is, there’s a large, um,-” He shot a look at Thor before continuing. “Um, mammal, a dangerous one, and it’s loose in the station and we’re going to deal with it but we really need you to-”

“Care to give us your name?” The newcomer was asking, and Steve blinked at him for a moment, before responding on autopilot. The other man, to his credit, didn’t bat an eyelid but merely looked up as the younger policeman jotted down the name in his notepad that had been pulled back out again. 

“Captain America, is it, sir? And into which airport did you fly sir?”

“Erm-” Steve flushed and Natasha stood forward, flashing a cat-like smile at the younger policeman. He gave her a singularly unimpressed once over and clicked his biro, awaiting an answer. Steve cocked his head towards the redhead next to him, and she shrugged in response. 

“Airport? Miss?” The younger policeman asked, an insistent tone now edging through his voice as he spoke. Natasha set her shoulders and switched easily from seductive to authoritative. 

“It’s a private airfield.” Natasha said firmly, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and fixing him with a stern gaze. He returned it steadily, apparently unaffected by the look she was directing at him. The biro clicked again, more scribble was added to the notepad. Then he looked back up and over at his colleague, who was still bouncing on his heels and smiling over at the group in front of them. 

“I think we're going to need another form, Nigel.”

“Nat-” Steve said warningly under his breath, hoping the policemen didn’t pick up on it. 

“If you want to get technical about it, we’re here illegally, Rogers.” She hissed back. 

“Oh, for-” Steve resisted the urge to slap a hand to his forehead and instead hooked a hand around her elbow and dragged her back a few paces. 

“You said get here fast. You did not specify within the law.” Green eyes looked back up at him, her arms folded across her chest, chin tilted defiantly. 

“That’s mainly because I feel it’s implied.”

“You need to readjust your assumptions, Steve.”

He sighed. “Evidently.”

“By all means, next time we’ll fly coach.” She now fixed that stare upon him. “Let’s see you fit that shield into the overhead compartment of a commercial airline. I mean, by the time we finally arrive the bad guy will have completed his dastardly plot, but since you have a deep desire to eat re-heated chicken and listen to endless safety announcements whilst wedged in between Norm and Sylvia from Connecticut, we’ll do that instead.”

“Has anyone ever told you that sarcasm is not an attractive trait on a woman?”

“You know, I can’t say they have.”

A surreptitious cough interrupted whatever answer Steve might have been able to give to that, which was probably just as well as he had found his brain draw a blank. That said, what he found when he turned back to the source of the noise made his heart sink. The two policemen had been joined by a much larger group of uniformed men, none of whom looked particularly amused. 

“Er, Sarge?” The first policeman, the young one with the notepad, was speaking to what Steve assumed was his superior. The man looked to be in his forties, somewhat grizzled, and distinctly unimpressed with the current situation. “According to this gentleman here, there appears to be a … Large unidentified mammal loose within the station parameters.”

“And?”

“And some kind of stag party, Sarge.”

Steve could hear Darcy laugh down the comms line, and made a mental note to check with her later on what the terminology was. Something amusing, clearly. Rolling his head to one side, he could see a small grin playing across Natasha’s face also. The superior officer was rolling tobacco expertly into a cigarette, his face carefully bent down and away from the group in front of him. Eventually, once finished, he brought his face up and tucked the cigarette behind one ear. 

“Well lookey, here, gents, it’s our lucky day.” He called out drily. “Called out to a second world war relic and an unexploded bomb.” Natasha stifled a giggle ineffectively, and Steve shot her a sour look. “Now, tell me Perkins,” The officer continued, gesturing towards Steve. “Do you happen to notice anything particular about this gentleman in front of us?”

“He appears to be wearing the Puerto Rican flag, Sarge.”

“It's uh, it's the American flag. Actually.” Steve pointed out helpfully, unable to stop himself. Bucky shot him a look that had meant shut the hell up Rogers seventy years ago, and had only increased in intensity since. 

The police officer returned Steve a steady stare, and then sniffed before inclining his head slightly to his left and angled towards another officer. “Johnson?”

An eager looking young man stepped forward, shoving a truncheon back into its holster at his hip and fumbling as he pulled out a smartphone from his top pocket instead. Three quick key strokes later and Steve found himself reeling back slightly on his heels as the screen was thrust towards his face. Blinking, he tried to focus on it but Clint was at his shoulder and already peering with barely concealed interest over at the phone.

“Hey, he's right, you know.” The archer said brightly. 

“Give it here.” Bucky appeared at the other shoulder, and plucked the phone from the junior officer, who looked as though he were on the verge of protesting before he caught sight of the glint of Bucky's arm and fell silent.

“Huh. He is right.”

“I like flags.” The young man said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

“He likes flags.” The senior officer repeated, with a tilt to his head, an arch in his eyebrow and a glint in his eye that suggested to Steve a certain amount of parental-like indulgence on the older man’s part; combined with not a small sense of what Darcy frequently called troll-like behaviour. 

“How ‘bout that.” Bucky murmured, and Steve caught the flash of a smile and the play of laughter wrapped around his words, for all they were quick and low. He sighed.

“May I?” He held his hand out to Bucky for the phone and the other man grinned before handing it over. He peered at the screen. “It says here that the Puerto Ricans adopted it in 1952.” He looked up triumphantly. “I got this uniform in 1943, so I predate them.”

Bucky raised a eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Uh, I mean, the uniform predates them.” He amended.

“Pretty sure you were right the first time, Cap.” Natasha remarked from behind him and a poorly concealed snort of laughter down his comms line let him know Darcy was listening to every word. 

“Well now. You’re here illegally, without jurisdiction, in my city. What’s all that about, Captain?” The officer stepped forward, rolling himself on the balls of his feet and re-adjusting the cigarette still behind one ear. 

“Actually-” Wanda moved from behind, stepping up by Steve’s left side and pushing forward towards the policeman. She held out a small book and the man took it from her, thumbing through it languidly. 

“What’s this?” Steve asked out of the side of his mouth. 

“I’m an EU citizen, Rogers.” Wanda said with a touch of smugness. “Legally I have every right to be here.”

“Sokovian are you? Welcome, Miss.” He smiled briefly before handing her back the passport. “Our local newsagents is run by a Sokovian family. Nice bunch.” The man paused and tilted his head to one side as his eyes met Steve’s again. “Weren't wholly overjoyed when you dropped their capital city from the sky, I do feel I should mention at this point.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Barton muttered.

“Steve?” His comms crackled as Darcy’s voice sputtered into his ear. “Hate to break up the Model United Nations here but there is actually a Frost Beast headed your way.” There was a rumble as the floor shuddered underneath them and Steve turned, expecting to see the thing bearing down on them. 

“I’m not getting a visual, Darcy, you sure that equipment’s right?” He replied urgently, looking around them frantically. Barton cocked an arrow and Thor gripped harder at the hammer. Even the gathered policemen felt the rumble underneath them and drew truncheons. 

“It's showing clear as day on the heat sensors, Steve - according to this, it ought to be right on top of you.”

“No-” Steve said as realisation dawned. “We're on top of it.” He looked down just as the floor shuddered again, and noticed for the first time the cracks that had begun snaking across it. “It's in the Underground. It runs under this station, right? Under this floor?” He asked urgently, pointing to his feet and directing the question to the officer in front of him who nodded tightly. 

“What are we actually dealing with here?” The man asked, arching an eyebrow as the floor shook again under their feet. This time it was accompanied by a deep rumbling growl and behind him Steve could hear Natasha swear colourfully in Russian, shortly followed by Bucky. 

“Darce?” Steve asked, putting a finger to his ear as he listened into the comms, knowing she’d have heard the officer’s question as well. 

“On it, Steve.” Suddenly the large screens at either end of the station flickered into life, the scrolling adverts disappearing and replaced instead with the grainy footage of the Frost Beast she'd ripped from the Internet. Poor picture after poor picture flashed up, roughly showing the size and scale of the beast they’d been tracking. 

The commanding officer sucked in a breath as he looked up at the screen nearest, but to his credit did not pale at the sight. Instead he cocked his head to one side and chewed thoughtfully at the end of his as-yet-unlit cigarette. The group behind him stared up at it also, the first policeman dragging out his trusty notepad again and scribbling furiously. 

“Where can it go?” Steve asked, stepping forward to fall in line with the officer. “If it’s on the Underground at this station?”

“Well you've got the Central line, the Metropolitan, Hammersmith & City, and Circle.” The other man answered thoughtfully, and the group of policemen murmured between themselves behind him, before one stepped forward hesitantly. 

“If it gets on the Circle line, sir, we’ll be alright. You could just wait until it comes round again.”

“Bright ideas only, Robbins. This is not the time for comedic leanings.” The officer said without looking back over this shoulder, and the young man dropped back only to be replaced with another one. Steve was mildly surprised at the total lack of fear they were currently displaying. 

“Sir, if it's on the actual Tube…”

“Yes, Johnson?”

“Isn't it technically the responsibility of the British Transport police?”

The older man’s face brightened, just briefly, before his face fell again and he shook his head regretfully. “Chance would be a fine thing. Good thinking, Johnson, but if we leave it to them we’ll only end up having to wall off the Central line and that’s how my Missus gets to work. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Barton had sidled up towards the back of the group, to one man who had a tight hold on the lead of a large German Shepherd, all pointed ears and police vest. It sat, patient and awaiting instruction, at its master’s feet. 

“Can I stroke your dog?”

“It's not a pet, sir.” The policeman answered, still looking up at the large screen in front of him and not at the archer who was gazing down at the dog hopefully. “It’s a highly trained canine police officer whose sole function is to assist where required in the line of duty.”

“Yeah, but … Can I stroke it?”

“No, sir.”

The commanding officer was still looking thoughtfully up at the screen, chewing on his lower lip as Darcy managed to drag up a small amount of film from an old CCTV camera she’d found lurking somewhere in the depths of the world wide web. Steve had always been impressed with her ability to find what they needed on the computer. She tended to laugh it off, but as far as he was concerned it was as close to magic as anything that Wanda did. 

“What’s it’s weakness?” The officer asked, turning on his heel to face Steve.

“Uh, well - we’re not quite sure.”

“In my experience Captain, everything has a weakness. Whether it’s a bloke drunk off his tits at 2am in the morning who can be distracted with a doner kebab, or an overgrown dog from outer space.”

Steve watched as an odd expression passed over the man’s face as he finished speaking, smoothing out his features as his brain evidently kicked into a higher gear. He turned back to the screen and let his head fall to one side as he stared back up at it, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and narrowing his eyes. 

“That remind you lads of anything?” The older man said suddenly, pointing one finger towards the screen where the Frost Beast was engaged in chasing birds, and directing his question towards the group behind him. A small chorus of answers rang out.

“It’s like a big dog, Sarge.” 

“It's just like a scaled up Jack Russell terrier.”

“My mother-in-law has one just the same, Sarge. Nasty little bastard, if you’ll pardon my French.”

Steve saw a small smile wash over the other man’s face, one that looked very much like a man who knew he’d hit a winning stroke, before he responded. 

“And what do you do with dogs, Perkins?”

The younger officer beside him thought for a moment. “Play fetch?”

“Something like that.” The officer grinned, and threw the cigarette he’d rolled up to his mouth, catching it expertly and striking a match off Thor’s vambrace. It flared instantly and he brought it to the cigarette and sucked slowly as it burned. “Get the fastest squad car we have, and that bloody inflatable beach ball Jonsey brought back from Tenerife.”

The group broke immediately, and Steve brought his hands up in front of him, realising he was losing control of the situation badly. 

“Riot gear as well, boys.” The other man clipped out at the retreating backs, before turning to Steve who was desperately trying to get his attention back. “Captain?”

“With all due respect, sir, we’re better equipped to handle this.” Steve said, in what he hoped would be taken as a conciliatory tone. 

“With all due respect, Captain,” the other man replied, icily. “The Metropolitan police force is not known for giving up in the face of adversity.”

Steve worked his jaw hard to keep a straight face as Darcy grumbled indignantly in his ear that the Metropolitan police force hadn’t actually managed to notice the Frost Beast wandering its streets for the past two years. Something in the other man’s expression suggested to Steve that the same thought might have been occurring to him also.

“Have you ever heard of a chap called Boris Johnson? No? Well you’ll just have to take my word for it then, but if a man can put up with that, he can deal with a runaway animal from outer space.” He paused. “Actually, the latter might be the preference.” 

\------

They’d re-assembled in double-quick time, and Steve couldn’t help but be impressed at the efficiency of it all. Stark had now appeared, clucking his tongue, fidgeting and making comments under his breath about how Steve was being overrun by a provincial law enforcement unit. Steve was heroically biting his tongue against snapping that the Metropolitan Police were hardly provincial. 

Across from them, the lead policeman and a man who appeared to be his second in command were having a hushed conversation. 

“I was thinking, Sarge, if we pushed it out East far enough, maybe it could do a little damage before we round it up?” The man’s face was hopeful as he looked at his commanding officer. “Just around Lakeside, Sarge. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it took out IKEA.”

“If it goes south of the river we might get away with pushing it onto the Surrey force.” The other man said in a low voice out of the corner of his mouth. “Let those smug bastards deal with something difficult for once.”

Even Bucky had to grin at that one. 

“Where exactly are we planning to stick it when we've captured it? Had you actually thought that far ahead?” Stark said tartly in Steve’s ear, eyes roving over the uniformed men in front of them, one of whom was holding a partially inflated beach ball and the other enthusiastically jumping on a foot pump attached to the other end. 

“The man has a point, Captain.” The police chief, Saunders, Steve had since learned was called, appeared at his other shoulder. 

“Wormhole, Steve.” Darcy said brightly, voice clear and happy in his ear. “We’ll send it back home the same way it came through. Jane’s got the stuff set up, you and your new best friend just need to herd it the right way.” 

Steve opened his mouth to answer the man by his side, but paused wondering if wormhole was a terminology that was generally known across the populace, or whether it was something unique to Jane and Darcy. He’d spent probably a little too much time trailing after the little brunette, trying to understand the lingo she used on a daily basis, something which had earned him a knowing and somewhat sly look from Bucky. However he was never really sure if he was catching up on general 21st Century slang, or something that was pure Darcy Lewis. 

“They’re not going to stick it in a cage, are they Sarge?” Came a horrified voice from one of the uniformed officers. He’d paused in his attempt to blow up the beach ball, and the other man holding it swatted at him with impatience as the ball started to deflate again. 

“Catch and release, Sarge, surely?” Another one chimed in from the back. 

“They're all God’s creatures.” The first man said, resuming his pumping action, eyes wide, nervous and on his superior. Beside Steve, Stark rolled his own eyes. 

“I don't think Battersea Dogs Home is quite equipped for this scenario, Johnson.” Saunders replied, but there was a kindness to his voice that Steve appreciated. The man had an edge to him, undoubtedly, and the part of Steve that had trained under Colonel Phillips knew that there was a kindred spirit in there. Yet it was plain to see that Saunders cared deeply for his team, and that was something that Steve could understand. 

Saunders turned to the team, wandering towards the two with the foot pump first, and cleared his throat. 

“Right-ho, lads. I want this-” he held up the brightly coloured beach ball. “Attached to that-”  
He pointed to the tow bar of the Fiesta with his other hand, still clutching at his cigarette. “With those.” He nodded at a pile of bungee cords they'd managed to drag out of storage. “Hop to it.”

“We’ll need a clear run of it.” He said, turning back and looking up at Steve. “No easy feat on a Wednesday afternoon in Central London.” An eyebrow quirked towards the captain, accompanied by a somewhat unfazed expression. 

“Oh please.” Darcy snorted in his ear, and Steve grinned.

“Leave that to us.” He said to Saunders, who nodded in response. 

“Green lights for us, red lights for everyone else; all the way south.” Darcy chanted in his ear as her fingers flew across the keyboard, and Steve repeated a version of that, too. 

“Where?” Saunders said around his cigarette. 

“Blackheath. London, but not really London. It's south, nice large green space, not a lot of through traffic.” Steve repeated this to the officer next to him as Darcy spoke, and the other man nodded appreciatively, still dragging on his cigarette and exhaling a small puff of smoke as he did so. 

“Smart one, that girl of yours.” He commented, and Steve made an involuntary jerking motion in surprise, just about managing to rip his comms unit out of his ear as he did so, shoving it into his pocket where he hoped the little electronic device wouldn’t pick up on any sound. 

“Excuse me?” He choked. 

“Captain, I’ve been around long enough to know that look on your face, and you get it every time that thing whispers in your ear.” He pointed, with the cigarette, at Steve’s trouser pocket where the comms unit was now making a small bulge. “Now I’m an equal opportunities man myself; not everyone is and especially not every copper, mores the pity, but I did strike the option out because there’s the fact you been calling her Darcy all day.”

Steve hung his head, jaw working as he tried to figure out how to respond to that.

“Don't feel too bad, Captain.” The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “I've been in the force thirty years, it's my job to be observant.” He stopped, hand still on Steve’s shoulder, then spoke again. “And if it's any consolation, your team don't know. Well,” he paused. “The redhead definitely knows. And your man with the arm. And possibly the archer suspects. But that's it.”

Steve sighed. 

“Well, as long as-”

“Your Darcy knows.” Saunders interrupted. 

“Oh come on. You’ve never even met her!” Steve exclaimed, just managing to catch the raise of his voice and control it into a low hiss, thankful beyond belief that Stark had wandered off somewhere. He’d never hear the end of it otherwise, and that was a headache he could sorely do without. Steve would rather take on another Frost Beast than have to deal with Stark taunting him about a crush. 

“No.” The other man replied. “However, what I do know is that she’s infiltrated the investigation program we use for major crimes, is currently in the process of taking over the entire traffic light system for London and created fake press releases on-the-fly for a non-existent World War 2 bomb that are circulating wildly on every social media platform we have.”

Steve made precisely zero attempt to stop the proud smile that claimed his face at Saunders’ words. Darcy was a hell of a girl, and no mistake. They’d only been on solid ground for two hours. He wasn’t entirely sure why it was that she’d hacked the police system, but that was by the by at this point. 

“Captain, you’re a bright man.” Saunders puffed out another exhalation of cigarette smoke. “Does that sound to you like a girl who’s not smart enough to notice a man who’s head over heels for her?”

\--------

“You're gonna need to vacate the area.” Steve said politely, but firmly, to the lone man who was lounging against the railings outside the station. He’d been watching curiously at the carryings on, saying nothing but taking in everything. 

The man took a large bite of an apple he’d produced from a coat pocket, and his slightly suspicious eyes slid from Steve to the shorter man beside him, head tilting to one side as his jaw worked over the food in his mouth. “Woss ‘e say?” 

“Move your arse or it'll get squashed.” Saunders supplied helpfully. 

“By wot?”

“Trust me, Sonny Jim, you do not want to stick around to find out. Hop it, sunshine.” The policeman jerked a thumb and the man, grumbling, moved on. Saunders rolled his eyes at Steve, who shook his head. 

“I'll take this one.” Natasha, expectant, stepped up to the car, now trailing a bright blue and yellow beach ball from its rear bumper, and the policeman who had his hand on the open door straightened, his grip closing on the door frame.

“Oh no, no, no.” He said, shaking his head fervently and closing the door slightly in front of her. “No bird is driving my car.” She fixed him with an icy look that had felled lesser men. He wobbled under her stare, but tightened his grip on the doorframe none the less. Bucky, stood behind Steve, popped an eyebrow in sheer disbelief. 

“Willis.” Saunders said without looking up. 

“Sarge?”

“If you don’t vacate the vehicle area in less than the next ten seconds, I’m going to conveniently recover from that nasty case of retrograde amnesia I suffered last year after you wrapped that self-same car around a lamp post on the A13.”

“How the hell did he get up enough speed to manage that?” Stark appeared at Saunders’ shoulder, critical gaze running over the car and coming up severely unimpressed. “It’s a 2004 Ford Fiesta. What’s the range on that thing? Nought to sixty in half an hour?”

“Tony.” Steve said warningly. 

“You think you can do better, Mr. Stark?” The officer turned to him, eyebrow raised. 

“Well not given the timeframe we’re working to, but if we had a spare two hours then yeah this blue fairy could turn it into a real car for you-”

“Gentlemen.” Wanda said, rolling her eyes and stepping up between them. “Perhaps you could allow me?” Without waiting for an answer she moved forward towards the car and Natasha wisely sidestepped out of range. The little witch began to twist her fingers and, with a deft flick of her wrist, sent red sparks shooting at the car. Beside her, the policeman who’d been reluctant to give up his seat for Natasha stuffed a fist into his mouth and bit down hard as the underside of the car began to glow. 

Smiling, Wanda stepped back and crossed her arms, looking over at Nat. The redhead nodded, returning a small smile of her own. An odd red glow twisted along the underneath of the car and, if it looked as though it weren’t quite touching the tarmac any more, that was probably just a trick of the eye. Probably. 

“Do you think you ought to alert your government? The Prime Minister perhaps?” Steve said suddenly, the thought occurring to him as Nat slipped gracefully into the driver’s seat of the little Ford Fiesta. The other man blinked at him. 

“I mean, I just thought… Well, I-” Steve stuttered. Saunders shook his head. 

“I tend to find it’s usually best to leave them out of anything that involves actual work. It’ll only confuse the poor sods.” 

Natasha revved the engine experimentally, and the little car roared into life with a sound much greater than anyone had been expecting. The gathered police force, to a man, took a collective step backwards. Wanda smiled. 

“Right, well. That’s… That.” Saunders said, eyes sliding over the suped-up Fiesta quickly and then back to Steve. “Now we just need to flush out the beast.”

“Uh-” Steve began, just as it burst from the front of the station, glass smashing and raining down on them as it jumped clear over their heads, closely followed by a large green blur. Nat hit the gas and the wheels squealed against the tarmac, spinning hard before it took grip and shot off down the mercifully empty street in front of the station, red sparks enveloping the back end of the Fiesta. The beach ball bounced merrily at the end of its bungee cord, hitting the pavement and flying upwards. 

“What, precisely, is that one meant to be?” Saunders said flatly, looking up at the bright green figure in tattered trousers currently clinging to the outside of a public house opposite that was apparently known as Dirty Dicks. 

Steve threw a nervous glance at the officer stood beside him. The shorter man was staring up at Banner as he roared and beat at his chest with his hands. 

“Any chance we could borrow him next time there’s a North London Derby?” Saunders said hopefully, as Banner took off down the street in hot pursuit of both the Frost Beast and the Fiesta. “It’s Spurs versus the Gunners you see, and it always gets a bit nasty.”

\-------

“Nah mate, don’t go south of the river.”

Barton had been trying, unsuccessfully, to hail a cab. Not for the first time that day, Steve heard a snort of laughter in his ear. Darcy, job now complete, was waiting on the Quinjet down in Blackheath with Jane and Selvig, and listening into the free entertainment Barton was providing. According to Darcy’s gadgets, Nat was roughly halfway to the rendezvous, both the beast and Banner hot on her tail. 

And the rest of the team were attempting to meet her there. 

“Oh come on, it’s hardly south.” Clint argued, now leaning bodily into the window of the cab, the unimpressed driver having none of it. 

“You wanna tell me about my own manor, mate?”

“Barton-” Steve tried to interject, forcing himself into the window as well and throwing the cabbie an apologetic look for the scene they were causing. 

“C’mon, man, this is ridiculous-” Barton whined. 

“Ridiculous? Ridiculous? I’d like to see you take the knowledge, you Yank git-” For a hot moment Steve thought that the cab driver was going to get out and start something. He looped an arm around the smaller man and pulled him back from the car. 

“Maybe we could just get the Tube.” Steve offered quickly, before Clint could start on him. “Wanda has a clam-”

“An Oyster.” The little witch corrected, cutting across him with a roll of her eyes.

“A one of those,” Steve amended with a wave of his hand towards her.. “It’s got to be easier than this.”

Barton looked more than ready to argue again, the cab driver seeing an opening drove off, only to be replaced by Saunders, now in the front seat of a police car. “Having trouble, Captain?” He asked, arching an eyebrow. Steve, roughly two seconds away from having Barton by the throat, threw the other man a wild look that said plainly don’t-push-it. 

“Need a lift?” Saunders said instead of whatever else he might have been planning to say, and gratefully Steve nodded. 

\---------

In the end, it went off rather well. 

Jane and Selvig had set up the wormhole, and Nat had driven the little Fiesta straight at it, beach ball still bouncing improbably behind the car, despite its prolonged high speed chase through the streets of London. Okay, Steve thought, they’d lost the car in the process - Nat taking a dive out of the driver’s seat just before it hit the shimmering blue plasma stretched between the lightning rods - but sure enough the beast had followed it in blindly. 

They’d managed to hit the switch just in time to shut the gadget down before Banner hit it too, his large green bulk passing harmlessly through the two poles as the last of the blue light flickered to a close away from him. 

Willis had grumbled under his breath about the loss of the car, but had piped down following a sharp look from Saunders. Steve found himself walking stride for stride with the other man as the two teams disassembled the apparatus. He looked around himself, and started as he found he recognised some of the landscape. Sucking in a breath, he turned to the man walking beside him. 

“I don't suppose-”

“Captain?” Saunders said, stopping as well. 

“It's stupid. But I don't suppose you remember a pub?” Steve scratched at the back of his head and wrinkled his nose before continuing, reflecting that it was probably a longshot at best. “Would've been somewhere around here… Crocker’s Folly?”

The other man sucked in a sharp breath and gave him a sidelong glance before answering with a shake of his head and a sorrowful look across his face. 

“S’long gone now, Sonny Jim. They knocked that heap flat after it got bombed out in ‘44, it's all fancy flats now, the likes of those who drank in it would never have been able to afford.”

Steve nodded, mostly to himself, not having really expected much else. The Brooklyn skyline didn't look much similar to him now, there was little reason to believe London, who had suffered so much in the war, would retain anything more than that. 

“My grandad worked that pub.” 

Steve looked up curiously and the other man stared straight ahead. “Yep. He was a young man then, of course. Served a lot of Yanks as it happens. During the war. He did get quite excited a couple of years back when he thought he recognised one of ‘em on the telly.”

The captain smiled to himself. “Didn’t mention anything about tights, did he, your grandad?”

“Couldn’t say, Captain. Couldn’t say.” There was a slight twitch to the other man’s mouth as he answered, but nothing more. 

\--------

Later, on the jet, Steve found himself wedged comfortably next to Darcy. Her thigh brushed up against his, and he felt a tingle along his leg at the touch. Her head was bent over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys as they usually did. He resisted the urge to brush her dark hair back from her face, tuck it tenderly behind her ear, so that he could see her face properly. 

Instead, he rolled his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. 

“So, did you enjoy London, Cap?” She asked brightly, and he opened one eye towards her. She was sat back now as well, looking up at him with her shoulder jostling against his bicep. 

“I've been to London before, Darcy.” He said, letting a smile edge across his face as he looks at her, all big blue eyes and pale skin framed as ever by that dark hair. He’d like to reach out and touch it, run his fingers through it, draw her close to his chest and let her rest her head against him. 

He doesn’t. 

“Oh you have? Me too. Was it aliens for you as well?” 

“No, Darce. The Germans were bombing the place the last time I was here.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell between them and, as he lifted his head up, Steve noticed that Bucky was shaking his head from across the way at him. Steve threw him a look that said shut-up-jerk and earned himself a grin from the dark-haired assassin. He resisted mouthing the words what-the-hell-would-you-do, because it wasn’t the time or the place, and to be honest, he already knew what Bucky would do. James Buchanan Barnes, in any incarnation of himself, would not have allowed Darcy Lewis to go unkissed for as long as Steve had. 

“Darce.” He said, leaning close to her so that only she could hear him speak, and dredging up courage from the bottom of his stomach and forcing it out of his mouth before he could think too hard on it. “Darce, could I take you to dinner when we get home?”

She turned to him and for a moment his heart crashed to his boots. Then a wide smile breaks her pretty face in two and she nods enthusiastically. 

“Yes,” Darcy whispers, and her small hand finds his, tangling hot fingers with his own cold ones. “Yes please.”


End file.
